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Wednesday, 16 April 2008

Glam: the Golden Years...

Obviously, it's not a new thing, what I'm doing here, with the Glam Icon business; in fact, as the more astute fans of the popular music form among you will already know, there were what could reasonably be described as 'Glam Rock Stars' as far back as, I dunno... the late 1990s? Remember Robbie Williams and all that silly Maori-style face paint? (Or am I thinking of the bloody great tattoo he had done across that great fat arse of his? Or was it his face? It's hard to tell with him. Whatever - I can still remember him, more's the pity...) I know I deserve the bulk of the credit for having invented Glam Rock but no man is an island. (Well, apart from that bloke in the Kaiser Chiefs - my good God he's *huge*! First time I clapped eyes on him, I thought 'what the beggaring bollockoids is Brian Blessed doing fronting a rock band! If we could just get him to lie down in the South Atlantic for a few decades it'd put paid to all that Falklands/Malvinas hoo-ha once and for all...

But I digress. No, I can't claim full credit. All I'm doing, really, is standing on the shoulders of giants and revitalising older forms; bringing them into the 21st century with an ironic, post-modem twist. And wearing lingerie, obviously. And not much else. But I thought it might still be interesting for younger readers (...and Istvanski...) to give a brief insight into some of the artists from that previous era when even the David Summit was Camp; that long gone epoch when rock was glamorous and it was perfectly acceptable to raid your Mum's make-up cabinet (...perfectly acceptable - only the chances of finding the hard drugs you were looking for were fairly slender as she kept those in her handbag, which accompanied her at all times...)

Who can forget the marvellous Roy Wood from Wizzard, for example? 40 feet tall and made entirely from skunk tails, Roy's famous pompadour hairstyle was one of the best-loved in the history of popular song (although he reeked to high heaven, the stinky Brummy lout! And the skunk tails didn't help much either...) His elaborate face paint would take several months to apply and, at the height of his fame, the renowned artist Jackson Pollock is rumoured to have had Roy's facial skin stretched on to a canvas in an audacious attempt to turn the former Move star into a walking abstract impressionist masterpiece. Sadly, the Arts Council grant ran out before they could finish the left cheek, leaving Roy a bitter and twisted, broken wreck of a man with one side of his face the size of Corfu...

And then there was Elton John. Who could forget him? Christened John Elton, if one man personifies the transformative power of glam, it's him. Reversing his name and his genitals, like a caterpillar, John emerged from the chrysalis as a luminous lepidoptera. Gone was the podgy poof from Pinner with doorstopper bi-focals (you see - even the spectacles were blurring the gender lines in those days...) and greasy, thinning hair to be replaced by a podgy poof from Pinner with doorstopper bi-focals covered in that cheap glitter you used to be able to get from WH Smith, greasy thinning hair and a ridiculous Donald Duck outfit. Indeed, *so* seditious was Elton's act considered that a special Act of Parliament was passed forcing him to marry another poofter and become a Watford FC season ticket holder for the rest of his life.

Of course, all this is a long way away from today's staid and doughty popular music hackery (sorry Frank Ferdinand, but it has to be said....) Nowadays, it's all Interactive Cyber-bit-torrent this and Quantum Digital-jiggery-wotsit that. There seems to be no room in the pop music industry for the subtle social comment implicit in a bunch of stubbly, brilliantined Stevedores dressing up like fey, tinsel-covered mincers. But the astonishing careers of Roy Wood and John Elton remain to remind us of a simpler time when women were men and Anthea Redfern was another thing entirely. Trouble is, just you try telling that to the kids today...they won't believe you...